Dressed in the robes of the wizengamot, Minerva sat perched upon one of the hard benches in the lower eaves of the courtroom. The robes, Minerva knew, were to show a support of unity – of solidarity, but at that moment, the Hogwarts Headmistress couldn’t have felt more estranged from the wizarding governing body.

She’d been sitting in the lower seats with her lips pressed tightly into a thin line. She kept her steely gaze well away from those around her, though she couldn’t help but allow it to flicker to Knight every so often. This was an obvious misrepresentation of power and Minerva simply would not stand for it. It was hard for her, knowing that she had only one vote among many in this setting – so unlike Hogwarts where her word was law.

Though she disagreed with the verdict (and had disagreed the first time), she had no choice but to go along with it. This was the way of the world, and she simply had to deal with it. Once the verdict was spoken and the werewolves had filed from the room, Minerva stood from her spot. “Well, I hope you’re all satisfied,” She said with a sneer – and with the speed of a woman half her age – stormed from the courtroom.

In the hall, she saw the defeated form of the healer and of her old colleague. Her stern gaze softened instantly, and a grim sort of frown found itself in its place. “You should know,” she said, “that I voted for clearance of all charges, and should you ever need anything – know that you both have a friend in me,” and after placing an awkward pat on Knox’s shoulder, turned and headed for the lifts.

The journey was done. The fight was over. Hannah and Knox had lost. The fighting they’d done, the attempts to overturn an unfair decision had turned out to be fruitless and embarrassing and the Wizengamot in all their prejudiced glory had trodden the werewolves into the ground like dragon excrement in the cracks of their shoes. They’d made the two aware of their positions with a harsh blow. They were disposable beasts in a society of prejudice bigots. They were pawns in a game of power.
And Hannah felt completely drained and lost.

Beaten.

This fight she’d had in her for months had come to nothing. The hatred, the fire in her flat, the verbal attacks, howlers, fines, being treated like a criminal, it had all driven her down. The only thing driving her had been the hope the verdict would change, that they would be considered innocent. They would get compensation, she could fix up her flat again, continue with her life as if nothing had happened and nothing had changed excluding one night a month.

But now instead she was slumped against a wall, the tears falling from her eyes unable to stop. She rested her head back against the wall, eyes closed as she tried to breathe normally and ebb the tears.

A pair of great arms reached around her tiny body and pulled her close. Hannah’s body stiffened for a moment. This sort of action was never acceptable with her. It was never comfortable. Yet after the split second she’d stiffened, Hannah’s body relaxed into her hug and she felt the rest of the emotion flood out, weeping into Knox’s large chest as she gripped his robes. She couldn’t control the racking sobs that came. She simply buried her face in his robes, dampening the material as for the first time in her life she felt comfort in an embrace.

“You should know,”

It was a few moments later when the Scottish voice of her previous headmistress was heard and Hannah tried to ebb the cries to listen. However, she didn’t pull away from Knox as the witch spoke. She gripped onto him tight, not willing him to pull away and abandon her.

“Well, I hope you’re all satisfied,” The Hogwarts Headmistress left in a huff. How very apt for a Gryffindor - so tolerant even through her battles with the war and the recovery. Edwin found it so much harder to forget what werewolves did in the war, and how powerful and dangerous they were. It was a damn good job they were incarcerated every month, especially with the direwolves.

"I don't think that was a lightly made decision for anyone." Edwin grumbled once she had left, joining his colleagues to descend from the rows. Fellow Department Head, Gabrielle Murray, looked equally disgruntled and was soon on her way.

Edwin glanced in the direction of Knight and raised his eyebrows as if to say it had to be done. It wasn't too often they sided together so firmly.

Outside the courtroom Edwin found Knox and Hannah having a moment, Minerva turning away to the lifts.

"Cursing the Head of the Wizengamot, original." He muttered, shaking his head. "Bad luck, Greyfriar, but let's look past this, hmm? Not have one of our own in the dock again."

Edwin inclined his head to them both respectfully, though more for Knox's benefit than the healer, and he too headed towards the golden lifts.

It was surreal to hold Hannah so close.  For a moment all he could remember was how nastily they'd fought, how much contempt they'd had for each other this past year.   It was bizarre to feel her crying against him and it made him feel abjectly vulnerable and insecure.  He wished they were anywhere but here.  Even though Knox wasn't weeping like Hannah, there was a feeling that he should be.  He wondered why he wasn't.  So much had happened.  Where was his anger?

A tap on his shoulder and a familiar voice drew him out.  Minerva McGonagall and her rolling tongue always knew the perfect thing to say.  It was stunning and humbling to have had her support in all this.  It wasn't considered the highest of dignity for a Wizengamot Elder to declare an individual defiance, but Knox was glad she did.  He nodded his head as she left them.

Knox nearly released Hannah when Glass appeared, but she was still held tight.  Bad luck? Bad luck?  A comment in extremely bad taste, a comment, though, that was perfectly appropriate for the occasion, for their station.  Knox looked up at his colleague in Catastrophies and set his jaw.  He sensed the implicit disapproval that Knox had chosen to pursue this.  What was worse? Open hostility from werewolf-hating bigots? Or the quiet disappointment from those who thought his struggles were a nuisance? 

"That would be a shame," he muttered back.

They were alone again moments later, and finally, Knox let his grip on Hannah go. 

"Breakfast?"

The elders filed from the courtroom and Hannah kept her head buried in Knox’s chest, immediately feeling exposed, vulnerable and embarrassed. In their prejudiced bigotry they’d done this to her and there she was, falling apart as expected. She hadn’t wanted them to see this, she hadn’t wanted to anyone to. Hannah Bombay was supposed to be strong and emotionless and a fighter but all she wanted to do now was hide beneath a blanket and never resurface. She didn’t want to face the world.

After what seemed like forever, Knox’s grip released and Hannah stepped back, lifting her arms to dry her face with the sleeve of her brown robes. Through red eyes she looked up at the wizard she’d spent so long resenting and holding so much contempt for yet now he was seemingly a pillar. He was suddenly standing strong and not losing it to anger or emotions. That had been Hannah. And he’d tried all he could yet they’d been fighting a losing battle. The appeal had been fruitless and no doubt pointless.

Bombay nodded, offering her companion a weak smile. She was exhausted, drained.
“Can it come with a fire whiskey on the side?”

Knox half-smiled.  In his family, a wry joke in the face of sadness was a standard.  "Why? Isn't that how all breakfast is served for you?" 

It was an agreement.  He wasn't the sort to drown his sorrows, but perhaps to day he could ...dampen them a bit.  He was weary and a molten trail down his gullet could wake him up.  Put some fire in his belly for the days and weeks ahead of them. 

At least he didn't have to go through all of this alone.  If anything, he could see all of his hidden and unhidden virtues in Hannah, who was never afraid to be herself and voice her mind.  Side by side her, Knox couldn't claim the same in that regard.  He balanced with politics, with social mores, with biding his time.  She didn't.  There was something worthwhile in that. 

"Might take the day off, if I can manage it," he mumbled as they boarded the lifts to head up into London.


Fin.